The Hazards of Witches and Itches
by ThornedHuntress
Summary: Charlie has an unbearable itch, and the newest witch at the reserve isn't exactly helping.


**A/N: This was originally written for the Charlie Ficathon on LJ, except I slacked and didn't get it in on time. So here it is, hope you enjoy! Much thanks to onecelestialbeing and krazyredhead0317 for all their fabulous help with this. Standard disclaimers apply.**

* * *

"Weasley, on your right!"

Charlie cursed and leapt backwards, narrowly avoiding the swinging mace of a tail wielded by the young Horntail. The foul-tempered beast had knocked him on his arse twice already, and left a devil of a burn on Rancork's arm.

Days like this, he was damned well ready to get the new dragons in their pens, get a shower, and wander down to the pub for a drink. Hell, probably more than one drink. Nothing cut through the bone-cold of hours spent in rain like Firewhisky, except maybe a woman and Merlin only knew he hadn't had any luck there recently.

"Dammit, Charlie, pay attention!"

The burst of flame near enough to singe his eyebrows brought him sharply back to the present and the Hungarian Horntail that was trying her best to kill him. Like he'd said: no luck with females.

* * *

Charlie stripped the leather vambraces from his arms and tossed them on his bed, all the while muttering a stream of unpleasant things about overly hormonal dragons. It had taken his team until well after dark to secure the reserve's newest dragon, no thanks to the Polish group that had delivered her, he might add. And now the visitors were probably using up all the hot water, so he wouldn't even get a decent shower.

"Long day, Red?" Seamus half-jokingly asked, as Charlie's boot hit the ground with a resounding thud.

"Oh, sod off, Finnegan," Charlie scowled at his roommate. No doubt the man had already heard, hell, the whole camp had to have heard. It wasn't as if a man doing something as embarrassing as getting knocked down a hill into a briar patch happened every day, so word had travelled fast.

Merlin, he needed a drink.

Retreating into the washroom, the wizard splashed water on his face, scrubbing hard in an effort to get rid of the dirt and soot marring his features.

"Are you going out with the rest of the lads tonight?" He called his question to Seamus through the closed door as he ran his fingers through his shaggy red hair in an effort to restore some semblance of order.

It was going to have to be good enough; he didn't have the patience to tame the mess any further. At his friend's garbled response, Charlie opened the door, scratching absently at his stomach.

"Want to try that again in English, mate?"

Seamus took another swig from a flask, rum no doubt, and raised it in a toast. "Way ahead of you, Red. Have you ever known me to turn down an evening with our lovely Adriana?"

Charlie rolled his eyes as he pulled a fresh shirt over his head. The Irishman had been infatuated with the local barmaid nearly from the day he had arrived at the reserve three years earlier, even if the pretty brunette couldn't be arsed to give him the time of day.

Pulling Seamus' cloak from the peg by the door, Charlie balled it up and chucked it at his friend. "Well then get your arse into gear, Finnegan, that Firewhisky isn't going to drink itself."

The local wizarding bar, an establishment so old it didn't even go by a name, was a haven of warmth and energy, even on a Tuesday night marked by bitingly cold rain. Of course, there wasn't much else to do in the small wizarding village unless a man really like walking the same four blocks over and over.

It wasn't as if the food was anything special, or the drinks for that matter, but nonetheless it was half past eight and the place was packed. Giving a nod of acknowledgement to a few of the other men from the reserve, Charlie made his way to his standard table, tucked in a corner near the fireplace, while Seamus forged a path through the crowd to the bar and the fair Adriana.

By the time the man returned, sporting two smoking tumblers of Firewhisky and a silly grin, Charlie had settled back in his chair, kicked his feet up on the opposing seat, and was surveying the room with mild interest. It was much of the usual crowd at the pub tonight; the faces he didn't recognize were few and far between, no doubt part of the inept Polish team.

Their little town, nestled in the heart of the Carpathian Mountains, and really only there to support the dragon reserve, didn't get very many visitors. Hell, he'd be willing to bet the pub's Floo connection, the only public one in the village, hadn't been used in a solid year. No sooner had he finished the thought and taken a swig of his drink did the flames in the fireplace flared emerald green.

Almost instantly, a hush fell over the crowded room as every head in the place swivelled to stare expectantly. Long moments passed before a form appeared in the flames, and then a small, blonde woman stumbled from the hearth, coughing delicately as she dropped a heavy case. Straightening, she dusted off her alarmingly turquoise robes before glancing up, looking not at all surprised to find the entire room staring.

"Oh, hello."

Her quiet words seemed to act as a signal of sorts to the gathered patrons, the sudden murmuring of voices rising to the rafters. Charlie couldn't blame them, there hadn't been a new witch in the village for far too long, or so was the general consensus of the resident men. Especially not one so pretty as the newly-arrived witch.

Although he had to admit, lovely as she was, there was something distinctly eccentric about the woman. Were those _turnips_ hanging from her ears?

"Who the bloody hell is she?" Charlie asked, turning to his friend for what would no doubt be a round of wild speculation. Instead of the gleam of interest he had expected to see in the man's eye however, he was met by Seamus' deeply furrowed brow.

"That can't be… Nah, there's no way," he mused aloud.

"Who? Do you know her?" Charlie asked, his concern growing at his friend's abnormal reaction to an attractive woman.

"She reminds me of this girl I was at Hogwarts with, Loony Lovegood. A Ravenclaw, odd witch that one was. But that can't be her, what would she be doing in Prahova?"

Charlie raised a brow as he relaxed back in his chair. Folding his arms across his chest, he watched as the witch picked her way towards the bar, apparently entirely oblivious to the attention she was garnering from the people around her. Loony Lovegood…

There had been a Lovegood family that lived somewhere near the Burrow, he thought, but he had never met the people, mostly because of his mother's disapproving mutterings every time the name came up.

But wait, no, that wasn't entirely true. If he remembered right, there had been Lovegoods at Bill's wedding. There had been a girl, friends with Ginny, or maybe Ron. But surely…

He fought to dredge up memories of the event nearly a decade past. The girl he remembered had been just a slip of a thing. They hadn't exchanged any words beyond a brief greeting, long enough for him to get an impression of glaringly yellow robes and shocking blue eyes, and not much else.

Surely the willowy witch before him had to be a different girl, just as Seamus had said. After all, what were the chances of running into his younger siblings' friends in his little corner of the world? Hell, he'd never even seen his younger siblings in his little corner of the world.

Just the same… He watched as she leaned in close to the man behind the bar, Dorin or something, and produced a piece of parchment to show him. The man's English was broken at best, and it was clear even from across the room that the witch didn't know a word of Romanian, as their interaction quickly devolved into a series of over-acted charades. Never one to let a pretty girl struggle, Charlie pushed his chair back from the table, standing without a second thought.

"Oh ho!" Seamus crowed. "Charlie-boy's spotted a damsel in distress!"

Charlie flashed a wide grin as the patrons near their table chuckled. "Just doing my civic duty, mate."

Threading his way through the crowd Charlie greeted the bartender, clearing his throat as he tapped the blonde's shoulder. She whirled and looked up at him, her serious, cornflower blue eyes huge in her face.

"Yes?"

Charlie opened his mouth to offer his assistance but was cut off before he could speak.

"Oh I know you! You're Ronald's brother, the one with the dragons, yes? What was your name again?"

Taken aback by her sudden enthusiasm, Charlie reflexively stuck his hand out. "Charlie, Charlie Weasley."

"Hello, Charlie. I'm Luna Lovegood."

Ah, Luna, not Loony, that made more sense.

"I hadn't realized you lived here, though perhaps Ginny mentioned it… But I've never been to Romania. There are quite a few more Flancors than one would expect, aren't there?"

Nonplussed, Charlie simply blinked. What in Circe's name was a Flancor?

Apparently unfazed by his lack of response, the witch carried on. "But they do such lovely things for the flowers, are they blooming yet?"

Here, she paused, looking expectantly between him and the bartender, who looked as befuddled as Charlie felt. "Erm…no, I don't think so, I haven't noticed."

"That's a shame. But I'm looking for a Mister Boris Rashenko. I don't suppose you know where I can find him?"

It took Charlie a moment to catch up with her abrupt change in subject, a moment he was fairly certain he spent looking at her as if he had just taken a Bludger to the head. "Uhh, yeah, he's a researcher at the reserve, I think."

The witch's eyes brightened visibly, the corners of her mouth curving into a beguiling smile. "Perfect, which way is the reserve?"

Charlie raised a brow. Sure this little wisp of a witch wasn't planning on _walking_ to the reserve? "It's towards the north, just up the mountain a bit, but–"

"Oh good, you see the most interesting things on mountains." Luna cut him off again as she bent to pick up her satchel. "Thank you, Charlie, it was lovely to see you again."

And with that, she was gone, disappeared into the crowd. Dumbstruck, Charlie met the bartender's eyes, who simply shrugged at the confusion in his expression. Oh for fuck's sake. He couldn't just let her get eaten by something.

Spinning on his heel, Charlie began to push his way through the crowded bar, chasing after the eccentric witch who clearly had no concept of personal safety. She was nearly at the door before he caught up to her, calling out, "Luna, wait."

When she paused, waiting until he drew even with her, he spoke in a rush. "You can't walk to the reserve alone, it's dark out and there are all sorts of things that could happen. It isn't safe."

Luna laughed softly as she opened the door and stepped outside. "Don't worry about me, it will be fine."

As Charlie opened his mouth to argue, she interrupted again with another sudden change of subject, something he was coming to realise was a habit of hers.

"Are those Spotted Lynsom bites? You should really take care of them soon, you know. You've been scratching since I got here, and they get terribly nasty if you don't take care of them right away. Have a good night!"

With that, she whirled and set off into the night, leaving one very confused dragon handler staring after her until her blue robes vanished into the fog. Merlin's beard, that was an odd witch.

* * *

Charlie woke in the morning with the dull ache of a hangover and a nagging itch on his torso. Scratching at his bare chest, he rose from his bed to stumble towards the shower. He'd made it halfway across the small cabin when his bunkmate's curse jolted him from his half-asleep reverie.

"Bloody hell, mate, what happened to you?"

Charlie blinked blearily at Seamus, who sat half upright in his bunk, horror written across his face. The wizard glanced downward where his friend's gaze was focused, biting back a curse as he did. Scattered across his chest and stomach, nearly to the edge of his low-slung track pants, were vividly purple spots the size of a knut.

"What the hell are those?" Nearly as soon as he had he asked the question, the sensation that had been a mild itch before he'd seen the rash morphed into something that couldn't be ignored.

"Fuck," Charlie swore violently as he scratched. "I don't have time to be trapped in the infirmary today, those Opaleye eggs are hatching any day now and we're not ready."

"There's some salve in the cupboard in the washroom," Seamus volunteered. "It might help, but you should really get that checked out, mate, it looks nasty."

Growling under his breath, Charlie stalked into the washroom, cursing his luck the entire way.

After a shower and the liberal application of Seamus' putrid green salve, the itch had eased some, but Charlie's mood was just as foul as he crossed the compound to start work for the day. So focused was he on ignoring the itching of his torso that he didn't spot the other person on the path until he collided with them.

Reaching out instinctively to keep the smaller person from falling, his hands landed on shoulders that were far too delicate to belong to any of the men he worked with at the reserve. Taking a hasty step back, Charlie locked eyes with Luna, though he hardly would have recognised her as the witch from the bar the night before if not for her familiar blue eyes.

Gone were the bright robes and the clunky jewellery of the night before. Now she was kitted out in clothing similar to what the men wore around the reserve every day, thought the men didn't generally have flowers stamped on their dragon hide boots. And Merlin only knew their legs didn't look like that in fitted leather trousers.

"Luna! Sorry, what are you doing here? I mean, good morning."

She blinked owlishly at him, looking for all the world as if he hadn't almost bowled her over. "Good morning, Charlie. Have you had breakfast yet? Leo said the cook's popovers are wonderful."

Charlie's brows flew up. She hadn't even been in Romania a full day and already she was on a first name basis with their hard-arse of a leader?

"Erm, yeah," he stammered. "Yeah, I've eaten." An apple he'd snagged from the mess, but still.

"Oh, alright then. I'll see you later!" Brushing past him, she continued down the path, a small skip in her step as the early morning sunlight glinted off her long braid.

Charlie stared after her for a long moment, something he seemed to be doing with alarming frequency, until finally he turned and continued onto the hatchery.

* * *

Pulling a rag from his pocket, Charlie scrubbed the sweat from his face before pausing to scratch at his neck, where he suspected the rash had spread. Days on rotation in the hatchery were always brutal, as the sweltering heat required to care for their dragon eggs was enough to make a man long for the harsh cold of winter, but he loved them nonetheless. Today, though, he was counting the seconds until he could escape the building, the heat increasing his discomfort tenfold.

He had just pulled his gloves on again in preparation to rotate the scorchingly warm Opaleye eggs when a voice spoke up behind him, nearly startling him into dropping the egg he had picked up. Carefully replacing the precious egg in its nest, Charlie spun, a harsh reprimand ready on his tongue for whoever had been idiotic enough to interrupt him.

"Luna!"

"I'm sorry, Charlie, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"You didn't," he was quick to reassure, more to keep the men working nearby from thinking the tiny blonde witch could scare him than anything else. And tiny she was, he realised as she stepped nearer to him, rising up on tiptoe as if she was craning to see over his shoulder.

"Are those the Antipodean Opaleye eggs? I was just reading Boris's paper on them." Pushing gently past him, she knelt in front of the nest. "Oh they're _beautiful_," she breathed.

Charlie couldn't help but smile at her obvious awe; not many witches would appreciate the dull, slate grey eggs, entirely ordinary by most standards. Luna leaned in close, studying the clutch of eggs before looking up at Charlie.

"Do you think I could touch them?"

Unable to resist the entreaty in her eyes, Charlie mutely removed his gloves and passed them to her.

"Carefully," he cautioned, only to realise the warning was unnecessary.

The witch's expression was absolutely reverent as she reached out and delicately touched the smooth, leathery surface. "They'll hatch soon, won't they?" She mused aloud. "You can tell the shell has thinned some."

Charlie nodded, though she wasn't looking to see his reply, which showed that he was impressed by her knowledge. Dragon breeding was a tricky subject, not one many people outside dragon reserves had any concept of.

Suddenly, the witch jumped to her feet with an exclamation. "Merlin, the time! I've got to meet Boris, I'm going to be late! Goodbye, Charlie, thanks again!" She darted from the room like a bird on the wind, only to reappear in the doorway seconds later, his gloves in hand. "These are yours, aren't they?"

She pressed the warm dragon hide into his hands, turned to leave again and then spun once more. "Cold might help with that, you know," she said, gesturing to his throat. "And I can take a look at it this evening if you'd like."

Charlie flushed, clasping his hand to his neck in an effort to hide the angry purple spots. "No, that's fine, I'm planning on heading to the infirmary after the bell anyhow."

Luna shrugged and, with a simple, "Alright, see you, Charlie," swept from the room.

* * *

The reserve's mediwizard sat back against the counter with a frown, staring at his newest patient. "I don't know what to tell you Weasley. I've never seen anything like it, not even back at Mungo's."

"Shit, really?" Charlie demanded as he scratched at a spot on his forearm. "It's bloody miserable!"

There was sympathy in the healer's gaze as he shook his head. "I'll contact a few people, see if they know anything, but for now the best I can do is give you a salve to help with the itching."

Charlie sighed as he stood up from the exam table, shrugging his shirt back over his shoulders. "Right, thanks anyways, mate."

Taking the offered jar of salve and silently praying it smelled better than Seamus's, Charlie headed for the exit. Just as he reached the infirmary door, however, a thought stopped him and he turned back. "Hey, Abbot, you ever heard of a Spotted Lynsom?"

The other man's brow furrowed. "No, I don't think so, why?"

"Just curious, something a friend mentioned. Have a good night."

* * *

Three nights later, Charlie lay tossing and turning in his bunk, wide awake as Seamus's snores echoed through the room. Nearly ready to crawl out of his own skin he was so uncomfortable, he grabbed his wand from the nightstand and cast another Cooling Charm. Luna had been right about the cold helping, but his charms were wearing off far too quickly for him to get any rest.

The salve he had gotten at the infirmary hadn't done shit, although he supposed it hadn't made things any worse. Nevertheless, he was covered in alarmingly purple spots and damn it, they _itched_.

As he again rolled over, his thoughts drifted longingly to the ice cold stream that ran along the north side of the camp. Normally he wouldn't go near that water this time of yeae if you paid him, but for once, the icy waters promised relief.

On a desperate impulse, Charlie sat up and swung his feet to the ground, pulling on his boots but forgoing dressing: it wasn't as if anyone was going to be awake to see him running about in nothing but pyjama bottoms. Stealing out of the cabin, he made his way quickly across the grounds, thankful for the cool spring air that soothed his discomfort at least momentarily.

When he finally reached the stream, just out of sight of the nearest cabins, he rapidly shed his clothing and stepped into the freezing water, wincing as the cold seeped to his bones as he waded deeper, though the stream was only to his waist at its deepest point.

As he reached the middle, he ducked briefly beneath the water's bubbling surface, rising with a relieved sigh as he slicked his sopping hair back off his face. The stream's water, little more than runoff from melting snow, was bliss on his skin, soothing the itching almost immediately. Nearly groaning in relief, Charlie splashed the water over his chest.

"Mongolian wizards used to believe that bathing in a stream under a full moon increased virility, did you know?"

Charlie spun at the sound, instinctively reaching for his wand only to realize it was still back in his cabin. "Bloody _hell_, Luna, don't you ever make any noise?" He sputtered as he spotted her shadowy figure standing on the opposite bank. "What are you doing out here?"

She raised the camera she held in one hand. "I'm trying to get a picture of a Carpathian Bloddriver for my article. It seems as if it's working though."

"You got the picture?"

"No, the Mongolian virility I mean."

Charlie flamed red as her pale eyes focused on his bare chest, immediately sinking down until the water came up to his chin. "Bloody hell," he muttered to himself, wondering how much the witch had seen before she spoke. It was cold, after all. Desperate to change the subject to anything not involving his _virility_, Charlie asked, "Is that why you're here at the reserve, to write an article?"

Luna nodded as she shifted to sit on the hard ground. "The reserve isn't home to just dragons, you know," the witch explained as she shed her shoes and dipped her feet in the water.

Charlie shrugged. He supposed what she said was true, he'd just never really put much thought into anything but his dragons. Nor had he ever seen anything that he couldn't have spotted in the Burrow's garden. Despite that, he couldn't help but be interested as the witch continued, her enthusiasm for the subject infectious.

"I don't get to travel very often anymore, what with the Quibbler needing attention and all, but –"

"Wait," Charlie interrupted. "You write for the Quibbler?" The magazine was a favourite of his, always full of interesting articles, the sort you wouldn't find anywhere else, and he had an owl deliver it for him once a week.

She gave a brief smile and waved dismissively. "Oh, I publish it. But when Boris wrote and said he might have spotted a bloddriver, I just couldn't resist. If I can find it, it will be a centrepiece of a new article series. I'd like to write about your Opaleyes too, if they hatch before I leave. Your nose is turning blue, by the way."

Charlie blinked, reaching for the offending feature, at the same time realising just how cold he had gotten as he hunkered in the stream, listening to the witch. "Oh yeah, it's a bit chilly out. But it's late, shouldn't you get some sleep?"

Luna shrugged, her long blonde hair rippling in the moonlight. "I like the quiet, and I don't sleep much."

"Oh," Charlie stated plainly, mentally searching for another way to send her away so he could escape the stream with all his parts intact, but coming away with nothing. "Well then, would you mind turning around or something so I can get out of the water?"

"Oh that's alright, I suppose. Though you shouldn't be ashamed, you have a very nice body."

Charlie flushed but stayed silent until he could be certain her eyes were firmly closed. Climbing from the stream, he scrambled back into his pyjamas before he spoke again.

"Okay," he called across to the other bank once he was decent. "You can open."

The witch's lids flew up and, as she rose gracefully to her feet, she vanished. Seconds later, a loud pop echoed, and she reappeared nearly on top of him. Charlie gaped. "There's a bridge just down the way, you know."

"I know, but this was much faster, wasn't it? Now won't you please let me take care of that awful rash? It's a getting a little bit repulsive, honestly." The usually soft-spoken witch had hardly finished her observation when she latched determinedly onto his wrist and began tugging him after her.

"Really, Luna, you don't have to, Abbott is going to take care of it." The woman stopped and spun, hands braced on her hips.

"Charlie, do you know what happens when a lynsom bites you?"

"No..."

"Well first comes the rash, it's uncomfortable, as I'm sure you've realized, but it won't do any lasting damage. Unless you scratch!" She admonished, swatting his hand away from his chest. "It's what comes after you've really got to worry about. It's a slow acting venom. First the rash, then impotence, then paralysis if you're lucky, death if you're not."

Charlie blanched as she ticked off the symptoms on her fingers as casually as one might discuss the weather.

"But...but there's no such thing as Spotted Lynsoms," he blurted. Luna blinked, a flash of –was that hurt?–in her eyes.

"You may not believe me, Charlie, but they do exist," she said, her voice low and suddenly unbearably tired-sounding. "Never mind then, have a good night." She turned to walk away but hadn't made it more than a dozen steps when Charlie gave chase.

"Luna! Luna, wait!" He ducked around her and stopped, forcing her to either come to a halt or plough into him. "I didn't mean to be rude," he rushed as soon as her gaze met his. "If you say they exist, I believe you, really. It'd be great if you could help me."

He honestly wasn't certain if he believed the witch or not, but he was willing to pretend if it would put a smile back in her eyes. Luna was silent for long moments, her sombre eyes searching his expression.

"Okay," she finally conceded quietly. "But only if you'll let me take a few photos for a Quibbler article."

"Deal," Charlie agreed, offering his hand. She returned the handshake, smiling when he commanded, "Lead on, Miss Lovegood," with a silly bow. With a smile still on her face, she set off again towards her cabin, Charlie trailing behind.

Luna was staying in the single cabin reserved for guests at the reserve, a building that sat empty for much of the year, tucked away at the far edge of the camp. Even in the few days she had been there though, Luna had somehow managed to make the space her own. Everywhere he looked there was colour, from the flowers on the nightstand, to the robe tossed casually over a chair, to the photos plastered across one of the walls.

Despite the inherent warmth of the small cabin, Charlie hesitated in the doorway, suddenly wondering if it might have been better if he had just gone back to bed. Merlin only knew the talk that would sweep the camp if word got out he had been in her cabin in the middle of the night. The men on his team gossiped worse than any gaggle of witches he had ever met.

He was just about to beg off and return to his cabin—surely this could all wait until the morning—when Luna spoke. Not even looking up from the notebook she was flipping through, she remarked, "Shut the door, would you please, Charlie? You're going to let the nargles in and I don't have any mistletoe."

Raising a brow, Charlie stepped in, closing the door firmly behind him. "Sit," Luna ordered, waving dismissively at the room's only chair. "Would you like some tea? I'm sure I've got some around here somewhere..." Her voice faded away as she bent to read again, having abandoned the notebook for a large, dusty tome.

Fairly certain that she wouldn't hear him even if he bothered to answer, Charlie moved silently across the room, gingerly taking a seat in the offered chair. Long moments passed, filled only by the rustlings of paper and Luna's occasional mutterings, the warmth and the quiet soon lulling Charlie into a half-asleep state as he watched the witch work.

"Charlie? Charlie, are you awake?" The wizard blinked slowly and looked up to see the witch standing over him, a small pot in hand. "This will help with your itching, and then I've got a potion for the rest of your symptoms."

Charlie blinked again, his voice gravelly. "You brewed a potion?" How long had he been asleep?

"I don't ever travel without a medical kit, that would be stupid. Can you stand up please?"

"Huh? Why?"

"I'll need to be able to reach your back too and I don't want to ruin such a lovely chair." Charlie reddened, inexplicably flustered by the thought of this witch's hands all over his torso.

"That's really not necessary, Luna, I'm sure I can take care of it."

The woman raised a sceptical brow. "It won't do you any good if you miss any of the spots, you know. Up, please. It won't take more than a few minutes."

Charlie rose reluctantly from his seat, shifting uneasily as the witch stepped closer, his breath fanning the wayward curls at her temple. Popping the lid from the small pot, Luna gathered a dollop of salve on her fingertips and unceremoniously slapped it on his chest. The wizard hissed a long breath as an icy, tingling burn began, a sensation that quickly spread as she began to rub the concoction into his skin.

Her fingers were light on his chest, her movements almost clinically efficient as she treated him. His reaction, however, was anything but clinical. His skin heated as her hands traced their way across his chest, tensing as they moved even lower to cover the spots on his stomach.

Blood rushed to his face even as it rushed to another certain portion of his anatomy, one that was firmly resisting his every effort to subdue it. Instead, all he could do was close his eyes and pray the pretty witch didn't notice the erection pressing boldly against the placket of his trousers.

He couldn't hold back the sigh of relief that escaped him as the witch finished with the front and shifted her attention to his back.

"Are you alright, Charlie?" She asked from behind him. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No," he rasped, clearing his throat before continuing. "No, you're fine."

"Good!" She patted him reassuringly on the back before returning to the task at hand. As her thumb dug at a particularly sensitive spot, he couldn't help but let out a groan at the pleasurable pressure. Moments later, the witch's hands smoothed across his shoulders and stilled.

"There," Luna pronounced, sounding pleased with her work. "That should help."

Charlie turned to face the woman with a grateful smile; the unbearable itch was already abating as the salve worked. "That's bloody brilliant, Luna, thank you."

The witch's lips quirked upwards in return. "Maybe next time you'll listen to me sooner," she teased.

Charlie flushed and grinned sheepishly. "Well, thanks anyways. But it's getting late, I should probably head back..." His statement was punctuated by a sudden yawn, earning a giggle from Luna.

"Alright then, goodnight. I'm sure I'll see you in the morning. Oh, and Charlie?" She called as he opened the door.

Charlie turned expectantly, only to be met by the blonde witch rising up on tiptoe to press a firm, brief kiss against his lips.

"Don't let the aisling sprites find your dreams."

And with that, Charlie found himself standing on the stoop with a wide grin on his face and an entirely different kind of itch.


End file.
